


The Living Tree

by dearjayycee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Derek's Manpain, It could have been worse, M/M, Nemeton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearjayycee/pseuds/dearjayycee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things you least expect, like a mole, on perfectly pale skin, making itself right at home next to others, always hit the hardest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Living Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! ^.^

           Derek understood how fragile life was. Everything had its time. Nothing stood still. Even mountains eventually eroded away in the end. As a child, hunting down prey, practicing, he had to learn that. That death was the end for one but the life support for others. As cheesy and cliché it sounded he found something beautiful about how the circle of life kept spinning.

 

           But the things you least expect, like a mole, on perfectly pale skin, making itself right at home next to others, always hit the hardest.

 

           He hadn’t truly known love, well, not in a romantic way, until Stiles stumbled into his life. It wasn’t what he had thought he had with Kate, the sick, twisted, manipulation of hormones and teenage rebellion. No Stiles would never be that. Could never be that.

 

           Perfectly pale skin only enhanced, not marred, by a healthy sprinkling of freckles and moles. Limbs too long, tripping their host at every turn while still bound tight with ropes of muscles. Eyes too wide, always looking like a helpless deer stuck in the headlight of a moving car, seconds from death. Lips too pink, plush, and with a perfectly curved cupids bow, always either jabbering on in an endless stream or worse, screaming out to live one more time.

 

           And gosh had Derek fallen hard. The sweet scent of jasmine on the edge of a thunderstorm, would forever haunt him. Making him helpless to ever want anything else. He never would be able to even if he wanted it. Not that he did.

 

           There was also a danger that came with Stiles, something wild and thirsty, but it had something safe and homey to it. Like a contained fire. Flames far enough away never to lick skin but close enough to warm you to the bone. Dangerous in a way only ever meant to help. Dangerous in a way that would only kill himself leaving those he loved to mourn.

 

            The nemeton had been one of those many occasions. Derek didn’t even know until after the incident. Didn't know how it would affect him for the rest of his life until Stiles had called him, frazzled and asking him to meet up at Deaton’s.

 

            Scott had been busy with one thing or another, as he always seemed to be when someone truly needed him, only to bust in at the last possible moment. Soon Derek arrived, faking annoyance and he stepped into see what was going on. Honestly worried about the situation since it had caused Stiles to call him of all people. They weren’t friends. Derek knew this and had come to terms with it. They were save-each-other-and-then-never-talk-of-it-again acquaintances. So Derek’s mind automatically went to immediate danger. Which, honestly, was to be expected and not surprising in the least.

 

            What he had not expected, and trust this he could think of a lot of horrible things before breakfast without even trying, was a small tattoo on Stiles’ back. It was interesting. Odd. Just a sprout, barely out of its seed, one green leaf stretching towards the light. And then as Stiles explained that he hadn’t done this, because he was terribly squeamish for someone who lived such a dangerous life, full of blood and gore, and that it had just appeared. And that he did not know how long it had been there since it was in a odd spot and that he had just noticed it this morning when drying himself off.

 

            And for once Deaton didn’t hide anything from them. Face soft with sorrow as he said how sorry he was while looking over the skin. Each word freaking both Stiles and himself out a little more. Derek had to calm Stiles from a near panic attack before they could hear the rest of what Deaton had to say. Making sure the boy counted with him. 1, 2, 3.

 

            Deaton explained, the memories still hazy with confusion and worry, how the nemeton, trying it’s best to keep itself alive had latched its life force onto Stiles’ and that now there was no way to split the two. Deaton continued with saying that the nemeton itself would not harm Stiles, that it would just pull in and store the magic that lay untapped and dormant within its host. And that that was most likely the reason it had pick him and not Allison or Scott. But the tattoo would continue to grow and store until the moment of Stiles' death where it then would use his body and magic to regain its physical form.

 

            The part that worried Derek the most was that Deaton had specifically said that it wouldn’t be the parasite inside of him to be his demise, imply that something else would. And of course it would. No matter what something would be his end. Burning alive or of old age in his bed. But of course the person he loved was now a walking power source, a beacon to anyone willing to try and catch him.  

 

            Many a horrible things came through town in those next few years. And they fought them off as best they could. Building a pack, and bonds through bloodshed. As they tried to live a normal life, Stiles only frightened when a gust of wind hit him hard, the ink leaves of the tattoo rustling. Always reminding him what was lurking behind his back.

 

            And as Deaton had promised it grew, each day changing slowly, until it ate up his back, leaves spread across his shoulders and roots tangling around his hips. Derek always wondered where they stopped. Only ever catching glimpses of the thing after a battle, Stiles taking off his blood soaked and tattered clothes trying to get the scent of iron as far away from him as possible. It was beautiful in its own horrific away. Like a normal tree, changing with the seasons. Leaves falling in autumn, April showers bringing May flowers. But instead of feeding off of dewdrops that soaked into the earth it fed off of Stiles.  Feasted and flourished.

 

            Derek stayed close, no matter what, most nights sleeping outside in the woods surrounding the Stilinski home. Didn’t trust that his Heart would be safe in the dark. That’s where monsters lurked, just like he did. As one of them. And though he had many an invitations to come inside Derek never took them. He didn’t deserve them. Didn’t deserve Stiles.

 

            Derek never held him. No. Never dare touch him, too afraid that he would snuff out the flames. Hold too tight, cutting off the airflow and choking the poor thing to death. No. Derek never held him.

 

           But he stood by him, watching every step of the way. Did everything in his power to assure his safety. Derek couldn’t even get that right. Just a moment too late. Power seeking alpha at his throat, fangs cutting into butter soft flesh before tearing away.  Derek saw red. Selfish in the way he thought if anyone were ever to mark Stiles it would have been him. No one else was allowed to touch. Stiles’ was his.

 

           Dead alpha.

 

           Stiles even confirmed this with his last few breaths. Laughing as if this wasn’t the end. Like Derek’s world wasn’t crashing down around him. Like there wasn’t blood spewing all over his hands as he tried to keep it in. Wish so hard to wake up from this nightmare. But Stiles, beautiful, perfect Stiles, with his last breaths forgave him.  Forgave him for things he was too far gone to realize were Derek’s fault. It was always Derek’s fault

 

           And whispered, choking down a laugh on blood, lips tainted by the color, _I love you_. Before fading. Eyes shutting. Body going limp. Heart ceasing to beat.

 

           Derek didn’t know how long he sat there. Crying into Stiles hair, saying he was sorry over and over voice going hoarse but he kept at it. Prayed to every deity he knew to bring his love back and then cursed them all for not doing it.

 

           He did this for hours, hoping for a fairy tale ending. True love and all that crap. He looked down.

 

           The body in his hands, though looked and smelt like Stiles was no longer him. That warmth that Stiles always carried. The constant movement and chatter. Those, those alone were Stiles. Now just memories.

 

           Derek pulled himself up, cradling the shell of his once almost lover, walking him deep into the forest. Farther than anyone would ever wander. Past that and farther again. Didn’t stop at sun down, or sun up. Didn’t stop to drink or eat. He didn’t even stop to wipe the tears that continued to roll down his cheeks.

 

           No, he stopped when he found it. A clearing, perfect in all the way’s Stiles was...had been… A spot never touched by another conscious being. He laid Stiles down, against cool tall green grass, in contrast showing just how pale he was. And then he dug.

 

           He dug and dug and dug. Not just into the ground, put into himself. Because he would never have a reason to return again.

 

           He laid the man to rest. Life cut short. Though he knew a hundred years still would have been too short. He would never be sated. Always thirst for one more laugh. Laying every handful of earth on by hand, saying he was sorry one more time with each fist full.

 

           And then he stayed there. Snapped his phone in half. Only sending a message to the sheriff and Scott, only four words, _I am so sorry,_ before breaking all connection with anything but him, the woods and his regrets and hopes now buried in the ground. He couldn’t even face his failure. Couldn’t bare it. So he stayed. Seconds into minutes into day into months into years. He stayed for all of them.

 

           Watching a sapling grow from the unmarked grave. Wanted to rip it up from the roots. But he couldn’t he knew they were connected to his love. Could feel it in his every atom. So he sat hating the thing, but still taking care of it. Watching it grow as his bones began to ache.

 

           He had lost count of the time long ago, didn’t care to keep it. So what age it was that he finally sat under the tree for the last time, he could not say. He sat, name forgotten, everything forgotten but his regret, under the shade of low hanging branches. The smell of jasmine on the edge of a thunderstorm his last thought.

 

           Before drifting.   

**Author's Note:**

> I would say I am sorry but I am honestly not.


End file.
